


It's Pathological

by Swithe_Ist



Category: Holby City
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 19:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17586560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swithe_Ist/pseuds/Swithe_Ist
Summary: A small morsel of around-the-ward fluff. Dominic needs assistance with a patient and finds the task of asking for it wears his down!





	It's Pathological

**Author's Note:**

> Yeahhhhh I don't care about medical details.

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

Henrik Hanssen's muffled voice finds Dominic Copeland's ears as he pushes the door to the Keller Consultant's office open. As he walks inside, he glances aside to see who Henrik is speaking to: Roxanna MacMillan. She is almost hidden behind a wall of blue manilla folders stacked neatly and arranged across the front of her desk. Behind it are a plethora of various open files and she is wielding a pen as though it were a small dagger. He doesn't blame her with that workload.

Taken individually, Dominic finds her quite unlike his erstwhile nemesis: she has a sense of humour and everything. But put them together? Working? She adapts perfectly to his meticulous routines and could perhaps best him in any duel of vocational obduracy. This dramatic scene before him being a good example.

He further observes that both of them are wearing their serious expressions and starts to regret his intrusion.

“Although,” she continues, “You might want to try checking the sequence across, there's often some better indications of where to start. But there's really no easy solution, I'm afraid, not with the poor printing. Well, that's what I'd do anyway.”

Roxanna smiles primly and nods at Dominic, acknowledging him. He smiles crookedly back.

“I'm not interrupting anything am I?” he asks the room and scratches at the stubble on his chin.

“No, Mr Copeland,” comes Hanssen's relaxed reply, “Who were you after?”

“Er, you actually,” he says, turning to face him, “It's about Mr Limley.”

“Go on.”

“We got his scans back and they are, as you suspected, inconclusive.”

Henrik looks thoughtful. “Hm. So. What next?”

“Well, I was thinking we might have to go exploratory for this: he is in good physical shape for his age and diagnostically I don't think we have any other options. We've done basically every kind of blood test available, scans over and over - we need a definitive answer. Going for a broad treatment plan isn't going to cut it if it winds up one of the nastier....”

Dominic trails off as Roxanna rises from her seat. He wryly notes the familiarity of the squeaky wheels. Some porter must've dumped The Rat King in here out of spite: he wonders what exactly was done to provoke this petty act of revenge.

“...diagnoses.”

He watches her pass a file to Hanssen who is clearly far more interested in it than anything Dominic has to say. To be fair whatever case they'd been discussing sounded tricky, he concedes: it must be if neuro were getting involved.

_Mine's tricky too, toothpick._ he thinks bitterly to himself,  _and I need it for my portfolio!_

Dom sighs and glances at the door. Lofty has appeared a few feet outside, wringing his hands awkwardly as he mouths 'well??'. Dom shrugs and mouths back, 'not yet!', before turning back to Hanssen. Lofty had yet to appreciate the delicate verbal dance required to interact with the Swede. Roxanna gives a friendly pat to Dom's shoulder as she bustles past and out.

Hanssen's eyes are fixed on the file before him. He has taken up a pen to note something down.

“So. What do you think?” he prompts slowly, trying to catch Hanssen's eye.

“Sorry?” he mutters, lifting his pen but not his gaze and rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

“It's just this is... well I thought it'd be a good addition to my portfolio. You've been on at me about it for weeks.”

“Oh, er, yes. You're quite right.” says Hanssen sheepishly. He sets the pen down as if a student caught out by a teacher. The analogy, Dom finds, even more apt as he realises the man had crossed his arms awkwardly over the file. Like he was covering it deliberately. Dom narrows his eyes and lifts his gaze to Hanssen.

Hanssen meets it coolly, despite his fumbling.

“So. Exploratory surgery, is it?” he echoes to prove he was listening.

“Yes. That's what I'd suggest.”  
  
“You're right, well done. In this instance, that is the correct course of action. Are there any theatre slots available this afternoon?”

“No, nothing til tomorrow morning, I think. Mr Griffin mentioned there were quite a few emergencies in AAU today.”

“Right.”  
  
For some reason, Dominic finds himself still staring pointedly, even unblinkingly at Hanssen as they talk. Their gazes are locked fast, so that even as silence falls they continue their game of chicken. Dom is tempted to yield, as ever, but steels his will. He will not let his mentor get away with this slip of decorum.

They strike an impasse.

Time elapses and the door creaks open. It's Lofty.

“Er, Dom?”

Both men turn at the same time to face him. Dom tries not to smile at Lofty's obvious discomfort or the fact he had bagged a draw with the flintiest starer in the building.

“The patient?”

Hanssen nods vigourously and starts to rise from his chair, pushing paper around as he does so. He addresses Dominic, ignoring Lofty.

“Well we all face being snowed under at times. It's understandable. And given Mr Limley's reaction the last time options were discussed, I believe it would behoove both of us if I were in attendance this time. Keep things to a more civil tone.”

“Yes. I was gonna ask, yes,” agrees Dom swiftly with a nod. He clasps his hands together and smiles. Hanssen nods stiffly back and starts at a clip around the desk.

“Shall we?”

“Yep!”

_Oh no you don't._

Dominic takes advantage of the split second Henrik is distracted by Lofty to peer across at the source of his flusterment. His tongue immediately flies into the side of his cheek as he catches a glimpse of not a patient file, but...

A crossword puzzle.

A very large one that had been photocopied crookedly and was barely started – a few blue and black penstrokes lay here and there, different handwriting shaping each. He ventures a wild guess that the rather girly marginalia is not his either.

His mouth twists into a nonplussed expression that strongly echoes his fiancee's trademark grimace as he trudges after him and Hanssen.

Skiving off work for Very Serious crosswords with his crush? How could he ever have been scared of this overgrown Digby?


End file.
